


A Perfect Model

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Patron Minette Week 2013 (1-7 Dec) [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had a request for some Grantaire/Montparnasse with D/s overtones. Montparnasse arrives at Grantaire’s to model, but is needed in a slightly different state than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Model

"I want you to sit for me today." Grantaire said as Montparnsse entered his rooms, closing the door behind him with clever fingers. "But I want to thoroughly debauch you first."

“Debauch me? Why, I was not aware I needed debauching.” Montparnasse said smoothly, removing his gloves with a casual air.

"Tonight you do." Grantaire said, not looking up as he set out his paints. "Strip." Montparnasse raised his eyebrows, amused, but moved to do so all the same, each piece of clothing being set aside. Grantaire waited patiently for the dandy to remove his clothes, since he knew very well that doing otherwise would only spur Montparnasse to stamp his foot and leave entirely, and Grantaire  _so_  wanted someone to sit for him tonight.

As soon as Montparnasse was naked of the precious garments, of course, Grantaire’s temperance was gone. He pulled Montparnasse back onto the bed, ignoring the canvas and paints to the side of the room in favour of biting at his lips and pinning him down, drawing chokes sounds from Montparnasse’s throat as he grazed over the other’s slender neck with his teeth.

“ _God_ , tonight you are a demon.” Montparnasse choked out as Grantaire bit lower, layering bites and marks all across his pale chest, where definition was slight but still present, where muscle was not obvious but no less undeniable. 

"Ah, tonight our roles are reversed, then." Grantaire returned, and he spread Montparnasse’s thighs with his hands before trailing over each of them with his mouth, enjoying the way Montparnasse shivered and shook for each touch to the pale, sensitive flesh. Montparnasse was cold, and his skin was too - for all he looked marble, tonight he felt it too, but Grantaire did not mind. 

He would warm up soon enough.

Grantaire’s hands now roamed Montparnasse’s chest, the position awkward, but what did it matter when Montparnasse was crying out like this? Grantaire thumbed cleverly over Montparnasse’s nipples as he swiped his tongue all too cleverly over the length of the boy’s cock, and Montparnasse choked out a loud, drawn-out sound, arching his charming back off the bed and spreading his thighs impossibly wide.

And then Grantaire dipped lower, hollowing his cheeks and dropping down, sucking  _hard_  at the length laid out before him, and Montparnasse was gasping and shivering as he fisted his hands in the cloth beneath his laid out body. 

“ _Grantaire_ -” Montparnasse strangled out before pressing his face to the pillow, shaking and squirming under the brunet’s attentions as he dragged his hands down, digging his fingernails into Montparnasse’s thighs enough to redden them but not to leave lasting marks. 

Montparnasse’ orgasm came swiftly enough and Grantaire spat it aside into the metal tray he used mostly for cigarette ash, but he had faith in the younger man’s ability to recover, and he was far from done yet.

He reached out for a bottle of oil on his bedside table, and Montparnasse drew in a loud gasp as Grantaire pressed a thick finger against his entrance. “Sir-” He began again, but Grantaire had already thrust the digit forwards and soon added a second, and all thoughts of dialogue were lost from Montparnasse’s mind as he concentrated on sensation over discourse. 

Grantaire quickly brought himself up to three fingers, and Montparnasse was on the verge of a scream when Grantaire scissored them, oversensitive as he was. And yet despite the rapidity of the treatment, Montparnasse never burned for it and was never pained - Grantaire knew very well what he was doing, after all.

Grantaire was careful but efficient in lining himself up, and when he thrust forwards Montparnasse let out a soft cry, reaching up and trying to grasp at Grantaire’s hips or his shoulders or  _something_  - seeing his need for  _something_ to keep him grounded, Grantaire interlinked his fingers with Montparnasse’s, grasping the other’s smaller, more slender hands as he thrust his hips forwards in a quick rhythm, his movements sharp and deep.

Montparnasse’s member did not harden again, but it gave weak twitches as if it had some aspiration in that direction, and Grantaire almost laughed against Montparnasse’s neck before he bit at the skin. Montparnasse shuddered beneath him as his thrusts became yet deeper, and with Montparnasse’s sudden relaxation he pulled back.

"Grantaire," Montparnasse protested weakly. "You haven’t-"

"Yes, I know, hush, quickly now, come sit over here-" Grantaire pulled Montparnasse back and off the bed to settle him in an armchair, adjusting Montparnasse’s body and positioning him the way he wanted, laid out on the leather of the furniture piece, one graceful leg over its arm, the other flat on the ground, with Montparnasse’s hands laid overtop each other to artfully hide the beauty between his legs.

And then Grantaire moved, still naked, to sit on the tool behind his canvas, and he began to sketch Montparnasse’s position out. The thief chuckled to himself, relaxing comfortably in his position but obediently not moving from his place.

There was a scarlet flush across his cheeks, his neck, and there were lingering red marks from Grantaire’s mouth laid out across his form. Montparnasse thought, with a pleased, poetic satisfaction, that he supposed he was just as much a medium to work upon as Grantaire’s canvas was. 

"Am I pretty like this, sir?" He asked, and Grantaire’s laugh was an affectionate one.

"Montparnasse, you are divinity, an angel and a demon rolled artfully into a single form. To look upon you is a pleasure, to paint you, a blessing." Montparnasse beamed, extremely pleased with Grantaire’s charming response, and went still and silent for Grantaire to work on his pose.


End file.
